


hands down

by hearteyesfordays



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, Fluff, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:27:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22248622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearteyesfordays/pseuds/hearteyesfordays
Summary: Three kisses Jack and Kent could have had.
Relationships: Kent "Parse" Parson/Jack Zimmermann
Comments: 15
Kudos: 63





	hands down

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Dashboard Confessional.

  


_three_

  


Jack goes to stay at his parents' place in Montréal at the end of the season. Well, the end of _his_ season, anyway. He's trying not to sulk about it too much. It's good to see his mom and dad, even if it's only because he got knocked out of playoffs early. Unlike Parse. His team's looking unbeatable; they've already won the first two games of the final. Against the Habs, no less. At least they hadn't had to play each other.

Jack and his dad have been going to the home games, but Jack thinks he'll prefer watching this round from the living room sofa. Then he can cheer as loud as he wants without anybody noticing him or commenting on it. He doesn't want to be a distraction.

He's not surprised that Parse hasn't come to see him, even if they're staying in the same city at the moment. He knows what it's like: the whole team's probably on lockdown, every spare second devoted to game prep. 

Jack shouldn't be disappointed. He'd just thought, _maybe_.

He taps Parse's name in his phone even though he feels guilty for bothering him. He'll only keep him for a minute, if Parse is busy. 

Parse picks up right away. “Hey!” he says. “I was just thinking about you.” His voice is warm, even through the tinny speaker on Jack's phone. “Are you at home?”

“At my parents'.”

“Cool.”

It is cool, because that means that they're only ten miles apart, at most, and maybe he could come see Parse at his hotel, Jack's about to say, but he's interrupted by the doorbell.

“Hang on,” Jack sighs as he heads for the front door. “I have to—Kenny.”

Parse grins at him across the threshold. “Hi.”

“I'm here for my good luck kiss,” he adds, because Jack's too distracted by his face to say anything.

Jack blinks dumbly. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” Parse's eyes sparkle. “So is your mom around or not? I don't have a lot of—Hey!” He catches the door and squeezes past it before Jack can close it on him. “Noooo,” he whines, but he's laughing. “My kiss! Zimms, I didn't mean it!” 

“See what you get now.” Jack turns his face away when Parse throws himself at him. Parse doesn't even notice, he's so busy burrowing into Jack's shoulder. Jack tries not to be too alarmed at the boniness of Parse's ribcage under his hands. Playoffs are hell on the body, and Parse has always been on the skinny side of lean. 

“You look awful,” Jack says.

Parse nuzzles at Jack's neck. “Why didn't I do this sooner?” 

His stubble tickles the skin of Jack's throat. 

“Still working on that playoff beard, eh?”

Parse snorts. One of his hands is trapped between them, his palm over Jack's heart. “Just because some of us don't have to shave three times a day...” 

“Don't worry, bud.” Jack pats his back condescendingly. “You'll get there.”

Parse smells fresh and herbal, like that ridiculously expensive shampoo he insists on using. Jack slides a hand into his hair. It's damp. He must have come straight from practice. He better not be skipping a nap for this.

“Are you sleeping?”

“Like twelve hours a day,” Parse answers. “Don't worry about that.”

“How's the ankle?” Parse'd had a nasty collision with the boards in the second round. He hadn't missed any time, but Jack knows it's bothering him.

“It'll hold.”

Jack hopes it holds in a way that doesn't mean surgery next weekend. “You'll come find me when you win?”

Parse nods against his shoulder. “But what if I lose?” 

His voice is rougher than Jack would like, so he scruffs up the hair at the back of Parse's head. “Don't bother. I don't date losers.”

Parse pushes himself back so he can look Jack in the face. “You'd better make this a good kiss, then,” he says, a tiny smile playing at the edge of his mouth. “I need all the luck I can get.”

That's a lie, if Jack's ever heard one.

He picks up the hand on his chest, examines the dark bruise across Parse's knuckles. He'd taken a two-handed chop on a drive to the net, game six against Arizona. It hadn't stopped him from scoring. 

Jack brushes his lips across the purpled skin, as gently as he can.

Parse says his name. It comes out hushed, like a prayer.

He's so close. It's not close enough. 

Jack tips his head. Parse moves with him, the gap between them narrowing so quickly it catches Jack off guard. He gasps into Parse's mouth. He's not sure it's possible to put everything he's been feeling into the kiss, all the love and longing and pride, but he'll try. Parse slides his tongue along Jack's lip, eager for more, as always. Jack gives it to him. He'll give Parse anything he asks for.

When Parse leans in, Jack holds him up. There's a heavy load on his shoulders. Jack wants to help him bear it.

“Good luck,” he says hoarsely, when they finally break apart.

Parse watches him for a long moment, then drops his gaze to Jack's chest. “You can root for the Habs, if you want to.” He hitches one shoulder. “I know they're your team.”

What is he even talking about? “ _You're_ my team.” Like Jack could root for anyone else.

The way Parse smiles patches a little hole in Jack's heart, one that's been nagging at him since the last time they'd seen each other. “Fuck,” Parse says, shaking his head. “Now I have to win, or I'm going to look like an asshole.” 

“Good for you, catching on,” Jack chirps while he smooths down Parse's cowlick. It's hard to keep the fondness out of his voice. “But it's way too late for that.”

“Ugh, you're the worst,” Parse complains before he presses his mouth to Jack's again. “I love you.”

Jack holds him there for a second, just breathing, before he lets Parse pull away. If this is all they can have for the moment, Jack will make it be enough. “See you in a week,” he murmurs. 

Parse flashes him a cocky grin. “It'll be sooner.” He takes a step back and slips out the door.  
  
  
  
  


_two_

  


He finds himself on Jack's doorstep, bags and gear in tow, two whole days early. Jack's eyes go wide as he opens the door.

“Sorry,” Kent apologizes. “I should have called first.” He hadn't exactly meant to show up like this. 

They'd had a plan. Kent was supposed to take the day after locker cleanout to say goodbye to the guys, get some sleep, maybe throw out anything perishable in his fridge. He'd fly in Thursday morning, and Jack would pick him up and take him for brunch at that new place he can't stop talking about. 

All in all, a solid plan. But Kent just couldn't wait another second.

“What? No, c'mere, no,” Jack wraps his hand around Kent's forearm and pulls him through the doorway, pulls him into his body. “Are you kidding? Is everything okay?”

Kent clings to him like a limpet, relaxing under the weight of Jack's arms. He's here. They're here. They'd made it through their first NHL season. Finally. “Everything's great.”

He turns his face into Jack's shoulder and takes the deepest breath he's taken in a while. It burns his lungs. “What's with the fumes, Mr. Clean?”

Jack shrugs against him. “I have someone special coming to stay.”

Someone special. Kent feels warm all over. “Anyone I know?” 

“Hmm. No, I don't think so. Actually, he'll be here soon, so if you wouldn't mind—” 

Kent thwacks him in the gut. Jack laughs at him like a jerk. God, he missed that laugh. 

He tries to scowl, but his face fights him the whole way. He probably looks super dumb. “Is this how you treat all your guests? I fly halfway around the world to see you—”

Jack scoffs. “First of all, we're only two thousand kilometers apart, okay, the circumference of the Earth is nearly—”

Kent cannot believe they're still wearing clothes. “Would you shut up and kiss me already?”

“Oh, right,” Jack says, and flattens Kent against the wall. Not gently. It's like getting checked into the boards, if getting checked into the boards gave him a boner. Which it probably would, if Jack did it. There's a thought for next season.

Kent tucks his hands into Jack's back pockets to keep him in place, and tilts his head back against the wall. He feels like he's about eye-level with Jack's chin. “Did you get taller?” It would just figure if he did. Jack's plenty tall already without any bonus growth spurts.

Jack kisses the tip of his nose. “Maybe you shrank.” He laughs when Kent bares his teeth at him, then plucks Kent's snapback off his head. “Nice hat,” he says, and tosses it over his shoulder. “Very fancy.”

“You like it?” It's from Kent's mini-collection with Adidas that sold out instantly. Last he heard, the going rate on eBay was 300 bucks a pop. “I was saving it for my boyfriend, but you can keep it if you want.”

Jack runs his fingers through Kent's hair, either fixing his hat-head or making it worse, Kent can't tell. All he can focus on is the weight of Jack's fingertips, the intense blue at the edge of his irises, the warmth of his body when he presses even closer. 

“That's okay,” Jack whispers. “I have three just like it.”

Kent grabs the back of Jack's head and crushes their mouths together. 

It feels like coming home. It's late evening, but Kent would swear it's dawn, that threads of golden light are spilling over him, over Jack, their love as bright and warm as the sun.

“Fuck, I missed you,” he says, when he can breathe again. It's a shock to the system, re-entering Jack's orbit after so long.

Jack ducks his head, pleased and a little shy. “You always say that.” 

“It's not like it stops being true, Zimms.” Kent strokes the baby-soft hair at the nape of Jack's neck. Sometimes it feels like a miracle that they've pulled this off. That he ever manages to go a month, a week, a day without Jack.

Jack nips at the edge of Kent's ear. “I missed you, too.”

“Oh, yeah?” Kent grins at the flush blooming across Jack's face. He's so fucking cute. “You gonna show me how much?”

“Yeah, um, bedroom, let's.” Jack bites down on his lip. “I mean, let's go to the bedroom.”

Kent would be just as happy staying right here in the hall, but it's Jack's apartment, so. “Lead the way.” He holds out his hand.

Jack takes it.

It must be after midnight, Kent thinks, while they lie tangled up in Jack's bed, worn-out and sweaty. The first day of the first summer that he'll get to spend entirely with Jack. 

“I'm really glad you're here, Kenny,” Jack whispers into the dark. 

Kent is, too.  
  
  
  
  


_one_

  


Jack's stomach is knotted so tightly he might actually hurl. He wishes he could just skip through tonight, through the next eighteen hours, even if it means missing the actual draft. At least then he'd know. He's not sure how much more waiting he can take.

Parse is stressed too, Jack can tell. He's uncharacteristically quiet, pacing across the width of their hotel room while Jack chews his lip to bits. He stops in front of Jack's bed with that look he gets when they're down two in the third with thirty seconds left on the clock. This can't be good.

“Listen,” Parse says. “We both know this season's going to be a big change, and crazy busy, so. I think we should talk now.”

So that's it, then.

Jack's been waiting for this, for the admission that they'll never be able to keep this thing between them going past the Q. The workload, the distance, the competition—it's all too much. They're going to drift apart, sooner or later. It's the smart thing, getting it over with now. Parse is being smart.

Jack nods at him. He can't speak through the lump in his throat.

“We need to be practical about this,” Parse continues. “When our schedules come out, I want to go over them together. Texting's great, but I'm going to need to hear your voice. I think we should plan a phone call once a week. And a Skype date. We can do more, but just as a minimum, to start.” He waits for Jack to agree, or maybe to object. Jack can't do anything but stare. 

Parse starts pacing again. “As for visits, if it's Vegas and Calgary, that's four straight off the bat. We'll have to check to see if any breaks line up, but it's only a three hour flight. I can fly into Vegas in the morning and we'll have all day—”

“What if it's the other way around?” Jack asks, without really meaning to. He doesn't want to know what happens when Parse goes first and gets all the attention he deserves, all the attention he _should_ get, and leaves Jack behind.

Parse waves a flippant hand. “Then I'll fly to Canada. Or you will. Or we can meet in Montana, whatever you want.”

“You're serious.”

“Of course I'm serious.” Parse narrows his eyes. “Zimms, did you really think I could go a whole season without seeing you?”

Jack shrugs at the floral-patterned bedspread. “I don't know,” he mumbles.

“Well, I can't.” Jack doesn't look up. “Jack.” Parse climbs onto the bed, his knees on either side of Jack's lap, and takes hold of Jack's shoulders. Every muscle in Jack's body starts to loosen at his touch. “You, uh. You know you're it for me, don't you?” Parse asks, like it's really that simple.

“Kenny.” Jack smiles despite himself. 

“You are.” Parse's cheeks have gone all pink. Jack wants to touch them, to see if they feel as warm as they look. “No matter what happens tomorrow, we'll make it work. Believe me.”

Jack shouldn't. Neither one of them knows what the future holds. But somehow, when he looks up and meets Parse's eyes, he does.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Parse echoes him. He leans in and tips their foreheads together, his breath gusting against Jack's skin. It would take barely any effort to tilt his chin up and kiss him. No effort at all. 

Jack keeps the kiss soft at first, almost chaste. He enjoys the solemnity of it, like they're sealing a pact between them. But Parse is Parse, and kissing him is Jack's favorite thing in the world, next to playing hockey with him, so it doesn't take long for that to change.

Parse pitches forward, his weight bearing Jack down to the bed. He reaches for Jack's hands as he does, entwining their fingers, pressing their joined fists into the mattress. Jack surrenders to the giddy thrill of it, his blood fizzing in his veins. 

He can feel Parse smiling. Jack's smiling, too. He doesn't know what he was thinking, that he could ever let this go. Parse is knit into his bones.

Parse pulls back, looking as dazed as Jack feels. “We should go to bed.” He rubs his thumb over Jack's kiss-swollen lips. “Big day tomorrow.” If they keep going, it might show on tv. Jack doesn't even care.

But Parse wants to go to bed, so Jack pulls back the covers and lets himself be arranged to Parse's satisfaction, knees angled just so, Parse's arm heavy across his chest.

They switch off the light, but Jack's not ready to close his eyes just yet. He looks out the window and tracks the moon's progress across the sky. 

Morning can wait.  
  
  



End file.
